A Lonely Existence
by MePo
Summary: [He was Quicksilver, and he needed no one.] Pietro centric oneshot.


He looked outside into the garden. The blizzard was on its way out; a few snowflakes drifted lazily towards the ground to join the sparkling white blanket already there.

White, like his hair.

He fingered the edge of the frosted window with a sigh. It wasn't easy being alone in a big, cold house. Cold because he couldn't afford central heating. He pulled the tattered blanket closer around his shoulders and his gaze swept across the kitchen.

Water was dripping steadily from the faucet. There must have been some way to make it stop, but he couldn't afford a plumber either. The sink was leaking because there was a large, fist sized hole in it, which Freddy had made in a fit of pique. But Freddy wasn't here any more. He had been taken away by a couple of people… one was some woman called Shirley Reddy… where he would be displayed again as a freak in a monster truck show.

He ran his hand through his white hair.

He could remember Freddy's roar of rage when he saw the people who had treated him like an animal standing on the doorstep, smiling at him as if they were his long lost relatives. Freddy had bounded upstairs, trying to escape from them, from his fate, while he just looked on.

No more holes in the sink. One less mouth to feed, one less bed to make.

Then they took Todd. The runt of the brotherhood. A short, hunchbacked little figure with a green face and yellow eyes. He was the reason for most of the fights Lance and Freddy had with others. They were always sticking up for the little guy. But one morning, he was gone. His bed hadn't been slept in, his room was untouched. Everything was the same, except Todd was gone.

He remembered wondering dispassionately about where Todd was and who had taken him. Lance had stomped around angrily, trying to find out who kidnapped the runt. Wanda was also angry. She had never liked Todd but she didn't like people picking on a member of her team.

But he was gone now. No more fisticuffs for Lance. No more annoying teenager breaking into Wanda's room. One less mouth to feed, one less bed to make.

Wanda had been having anger problems again and this time, Agatha Harkness wasn't here to help her. She had wrecked the brotherhood sofa. He remembered that day well. Lance had blown a fuse, but he didn't care. That old sofa was creaky, old, and altogether useless.

No more Wanda, no more sofa. One less mouth to feed, one less bed to make.

Lance was the last one to go. He had moped around the house after Wanda was taken away. He had never got along too well with Lance. They were too different. Lance cared too much, while he was aloof. He set himself aside; he observed the goings-on analytically, logically, while Lance through himself into them, heart, soul and mind. The emotional strain on him was too much. He wasted away. Went from tall, muscular leader to a helpless little boy whose companions had been snatched away.

He had never been one of those companions. He was just a teammate, someone Lance _had _to put up with. But now Lance was gone too. And there was no more leader. Only one mouth left to feed, one bed left to make.

He stood up, clutching at the blanket to prevent it from falling. Walking up the stairs, his steps echoed loudly, reminding him that he was alone. He didn't have anybody.

He entered his sister's bare room. There was nothing left to remind him of her except a picture resting against the wall on the ground. She was standing with Eric Lensherr, Magneto… their father.

He picked up the picture. Magneto was a crummy father; but Wanda didn't know that. She had gone back to where she came from happy in the belief that her dear father would come back to rescue her… when it was her father who had put her there in the first place.

He stood absolutely still for a moment before letting go of the frame. It crashed down, the glass shattering. The picture lay half outside the frame. He brought his heel down upon it, grinding the shards of glass, leaving footprints across the photo itself. If gave him strange satisfaction to see the face of the man who had made life hell for him on the ground, beneath his foot.

Magneto had, indeed, made life hell for him. Where was his father when he needed financial help? Where was Magneto when he needed company? Where was Magneto now?

He wasn't there. He had never been there when his son needed him most. And now his son was fed up. He straightened himself, looking out once more into the snow-covered world.

He was Quicksilver, and he needed no one.


End file.
